Cookies
by nicky hearts cookies
Summary: Izzie bakes, and thinks of Denny, but something isn't right. T for slight language.


Yay! My second ever fanfiction! And just in time for Christmas!

Basically, Izzie thinks of Denny while baking. (what a surprise)

She pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, leaving a streak of flour across her cheek. She picked a sugar cookie off the platter where they had been cooling, brought it to her mouth, and tasted it.

"Something," she took another bite, "is not right." She ate the rest of the cookie, and shook her head in frustration. She couldn't figure out what was missing. Izzie jogged up the stairs in her Paul Frank underwear and tank top, and pounded on George's door.

"George! Open up!" she shouted, and banged on the door again. A muffled thump and groan could be heard over the banging of Izzie's fists on the wooden door. George, his hair rumpled and tousled, slowly opened the door.

"Izzie, do you know what time it is?" She shook her head, no. "Almost midnight, on Christmas Eve." He answered, sleepily, rubbing his eyes with his fist.

"Oh. Whoops." She answered nonchalantly. "Look, George, I need you to try these." She held up the plate of cookies. "Something isn't right." He looked at her incredulously, and opened his mouth to try and protest, but she cut him off. "Seriously! It's important!"

"Fine, Izzie. But if I try one of these, will you go to sleep?" She nodded, and thrust the plate at him. He took one, and bit in. "Mmmmm. These are delicious." He reached for another, but she swiped his hand away. "Only one, you need to wait until tomorrow. But something's wrong with these, and I can't figure out what." She was annoyed, almost distressed. These were supposed to be perfect, the ones that He liked. But they weren't, and it upset her. Him. Denny. He loved these cookies. Izzie shook her head again, as if to shake the thoughts of him from her head. George looked at her for a moment, studying her expression. "Nothing's wrong with these, Izzie. I promise. Just go to sleep." His eyes begged her to just drop it, and his face showed that he was worried about her.

"Yeah, whatever. 'Night, George." She took the plate of cookies back from him.

"Alright. 'Night, Izzie." He slowly shut the door. She slowly padded across the carpeted hallway, cookies in hand. She opened the door to her room, and rummaged through her closet for a moment, throwing silky tops and various pairs of panties across the room as she searched for something that was buried deep in the pile of clothes. Finally, after almost ten pairs of panties had been excavated from their burial place in her closet, her hands closed around a lumpy wool sweater. She pulled it out from the pile, and held it close to her face. She inhaled deeply. It smelled like Denny. She pulled it on, and, switching off the light, but ignoring the chaos of clothing in her room, walked down the stairs to the kitchen. She stood under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen, one hand wrapped around her waist, feeling the sweater, and the other hand clutching the plate of cookies.

She put the plate down, and picked up a single one. A candy cane, dusted lightly with red sugar. Izzie remembered baking a batch of sugar cookies for Denny, when he was still waiting for his heart. They had eaten cookies, dozens of them, and played scrabble until the nurse told her to leave, that he needed his rest. Denny had laughed with her, flirting and funny as usual, but the beeping of the heart monitor reminded her that he wasn't just another guy, wasn't her guy to have. How she wished now that she had damned the risk of being caught, and hadn't spent most of the time she had with Denny denying her feelings for him. She looked at the cookie in her hand, reminding her of an imperfect job. It seemed that she couldn't do anything right anymore, after him. Her fist tightened around the cookie, in anger and sorrow, until it crumbled in her hand and spilled out from between her fingers. A tear ran down her cheek and dripped onto her fist, mingling with the cookie crumbs. She opened her hand, and let the crumbs fall onto the floor.

Damn, did she miss him.


End file.
